


Blue, and blue, and blue

by boxofwonder



Category: Universal Century Gundam
Genre: Academy Era, Char's Flirting (Fucked Up), Garma's Flirting (Almost Acceptable), M/M, Mutually Unidentified Pining, This bad boy can fit so much homoerotic tension, slaps roof of fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-15 04:40:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29058384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boxofwonder/pseuds/boxofwonder
Summary: Every time he reached his hand into the lion’s mouth and came out unharmed, it made him feel dizzy with something he dared not name. And today, he stroked the lion’s perfect canine as he touched his fingertips to the glasses and lifted them from Char’s face.
Relationships: Char Aznable/Garma Zabi
Comments: 3
Kudos: 9





	Blue, and blue, and blue

**Author's Note:**

> Five episodes into Gundam: The Origin and he gives you this fic.

“Is it dangerous?”

Mayhap Garma was emboldened to the question by the fact that it was only the two of them right now. By the fact that the sun was sinking, the danger containing itself, but leaving enough daylight to take a chance. Or simply by the fact that his body was tired and aching in the best of ways, and getting ready for only a few hours of studying before sweet, sweet rest was calling.

Char slowed his steps, glancing over at Garma. His lips did that thing – not enough of a smile to count, but too mocking to slide as neutral. When Char tilted his head one corner of his mouth deepened the impression, as if in indulgence of Garma. “Is what dangerous? Life? Becoming a soldier? We both know it is all more dangerous than anyone ever dares to think.”

Garma twirled a strand of his hair, tempted to engage with that line of thinking: it would be easy to treat this as a rather broad philosophical statement instead of digging his heels in and chasing his own question. But he stopped walking, literally digging in his heels, and forged on, curiosity burning. “Your glasses. To be without them, for a minute.”

“A minute!” Char’s voice was breathy with a not-quite-laugh. “I won’t go blind from that, no.”

So, without thought, Garma turned and stepped in front of Char, looking at him for a momen before he took a deep breath and lifted his hands to Char’s face. He did it so slowly that Char could have avoided him without having to do much more than take a single step back, but instead, the other man let it happen. He seemed about as surprised at the fact as Garma was. Stood there, tension coiled tight in his body, every muscle poised to fight.

It was the same cold atmosphere that came over him before the mock battle. The same energy that made half their classmates stumble over each other to get away from him, and only made Garma want to lean in closer, and see how far Char would let him. 

Every time he reached his hand into the lion’s mouth and came out unharmed, it made him feel dizzy with something he dared not name. And today, he stroked the lion’s perfect canine as he touched his fingertips to the sunglasses and lifted them from Char’s face.

Those eyes he usually only caught muted glimpses of took his breath away, trained intently on Garma’s face. Focused solely on him, undoing him layer by layer to see down to the ugly, ragged parts of him. He should have feared, not craved it. No one had ever seemed to want to see what was beneath the Zabi name, beneath the reputation, beneath the bluster.

And here was Char.

Char, who had seen Garma at his most pathetic and chosen to prop him up step after painful step, so they would both make the hike.

“They are beautiful, you know,” Garma breathed, thumb tracing the frame of Char’s glasses, still warm from his skin. His gaze rested, unwavering, on those blue eyes, flaming with intensity and colder than the heaviness of space.

Char did not blink – only stared back, intent. His gaze was a heavy thing to bear, without the tinted glasses in the way. “And why would I care?” he asked, so unmoved he sounded bored. “What good would beauty do me?”

Garma’s brow furrowed. “There is a kind of power in beauty, too.”

“Come now.” Char chuckled, breaking his gaze to look to the side. “There is no such thing. When a man comes for your life it matters not if you are beautiful or the ugliest mug in the land, it only matters if you know how to survive. You are either stronger, or you die.” 

He said it with such certainty.

_How do you sound like you know what it’s like to face something like that?_

Garma was a Zabi, so he knew what it was like, for people to want you dead. Of course he did. But the attempts on his life had always been removed from him: even the closest call had been handled by guards, left him trembling but not with the blood of someone on his hands who had come intimately close to ending his life. He had never been in a real do or die situation, and Char sounded and acted like he had, too many times.

Garma had no idea how to ask, without sounding like a naive fool. So he lifted his chin, tossing his bangs from his face, and took half a step closer. “And that’s where you are wrong! In every other moment, it can be an asset.” He met Char’s gaze without falter. Char Aznable was a very beautiful man indeed. Not appreciating it would be a waste. “Beauty can draw people in. Make them let their guard down. Distract them.”

“Oh?” Char hummed. He took half a step closer, but it may as well have been five, as the distance between them shrunk to mingling breath. Garma’s heart seemed to experience critical failure and try to make up for it by working thrice as hard as it should have, rationally. “Is that so?” Char asked, voice dark, and his thumb pressed, suddenly and undeniable, against Garma’s wrist. It felt at once impossible and realer than any other sensation, realer than the setting sun and the stuttering breath in Garma’s lungs.

“Char?” he asked, voice barely a whisper.

Char only looked down at him, eyes so impossibly bright, and his thumb wordlessly brushed beneath his sleeve as he traced a whisper-soft path along Garma’s veins. Garma’s lips parted, but no sound escaped him.

Not until Char’s hand squeezed down viciously, grinding the bones in Garma’s wrists together. With a yelp, Garma dropped the glasses and stumbled back.

Char’s hand caught the glasses from the air and his foot kicked out, making Garma stumble backwards over it.

Garma fell, heart lurching in his chest, stomach swooping. His arms shot out, desperately trying to reach out for anything to break his fall. And then he was caught mid-air, all breath escaping him as he was suddenly braced by the very one who’d tripped him in the first place. Char had one hand securely at Garma’s back, fingers splayed and holding him without fault, and the heat of it burned through the single layer of Garma’s shirt.

“I see,” Char hummed above him, eyes sparking with something Garma could not interpret even without glasses between him and those eyes. “Thanks for the advice.”

With his free hand, he lifted his folded glasses to Garma’s neck. Garma only stared up at him, lips slightly parted, feeling that single point of strength that held him up, one tense arm half-wrapped around him, biceps hard with tension where it brushed Garma’s side. It felt so –

Even thinking the word _intimate_ made his cheeks flush.

Char, unruffled, smiled and drew his glasses along Garma’s exposed neck like the cut of a dagger. 

Then, just as abruptly, he righted him and turned away, bringing distance between them. Garma had to focus on staying on his own two feet, trying to catch his breath. What had just –

He looked up, watched from behind as Char slid on the glasses to protect his eyes again. Only when they sat securely did he turn his head with a wry little smile. “I might keep it in mind, then.”

“Y-yeah,” Garma said, weakly. His mind had no idea what Char was even referring to right now, but he nodded along to his affirmative, too. Stood crisply at attention, hands clasped behind his back, to hide their tremble. “You should.”

Char simply started walking back to the dorms, then, giving a two-fingered salute over his shoulder without looking back. 

Garma stood rooted to the spot and touched his fingertips to his neck, the echo of the glasses against it making his cheeks burn as he watched Char go ahead. Knowing full well he would face Char in their shared room again, and that they had the same path back, he turned towards the sunset as a plausible reason to stay behind. To catch his breath.

He forced himself to stare at its colours bleeding over the sky until his mind was no longer filled with blue and blue and _blue_. 

**Author's Note:**

> Char's tinted glasses are something that can actually be such a driving force of homoerotic tension,
> 
> Hey, hey, Gundam tags are a nightmare. I used the fandom tag most fics in the Charma tag used, but what is the truth???? Who knows, certainly not me. If I'm wrong I'd appreciate if someone could help me out 'Sure grandma let's get you to the right tag' style.
> 
> /blows every charma stan a kiss and scuttles back under my rock


End file.
